


blue-eyed barbaros

by ErinNovelist



Series: life is not a chick flick [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, Gen, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinNovelist/pseuds/ErinNovelist
Summary: It’s an interplanetary diplomatic mission for the Coalition. Also known as a chance for Allura and Lance to further explore their blossoming partnership. It doesn’t go the way they planned though.Or: The Galra are trying to kill them. Allura just wants to blow shit up. Lance learns how much he’s willing to lose in this war.





	blue-eyed barbaros

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a wonderful product of the Voltron Gen Mini Reverse Bang. I absolutely loved writing it and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Had the absolute pleasure of working with the talented [aionean, who created this amazing artwork for the piece!](https://aionean.tumblr.com/post/176143343539/you-cant-cross-a-sea-by-standing-on-the-shore).

When Lance was younger, his mother would often tell him, “You can’t cross a sea by standing on the shore and staring out over the water.”

Though he’s heard it repeatedly for many years, it’s not until the morning of the Europa X launch, a mission which would take the first humans to the smallest of the four Galilean moons orbiting Jupiter, that he truly understands what she means. In a small town near the shores of Varadero, where the sun kisses the waves along the windy coastline, Lance stands on the beach and watches the shuttle launch from the space station a few miles west. 

The launch itself is quick and quiet as the shuttle disappears into the white wispy clouds above, but Lance stands there for a long time after, simply staring at the sky as if he could still see it. The cool breeze flits past and ruffles his hair, and seagull cries whistle like a lullaby. It’s a small piece of paradise nestled between the sand and the sea, the place he’s called home his whole life, but for the first time ever, he finds himself wishing he were elsewhere.

He would stay here forever if he could, but there’s a different story at work here. From that moment, Lance knows he isn’t meant to stay in Cuba. He’s destined for so much more—for the moon, for the stars, for the universe—and he can’t get anywhere by staying here. 

Lance is twelve when he applies for the Galaxy Garrison’s flight school back in the States. It’s miles and miles, a gulf and a country away, but it’s the best chance he has of making it to space.

He’s fifteen when he makes it into the pilot program and is chosen for cargo class. All he can think about is how close he came only to find himself in freefall back to the ground. It hurts and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth for months to come. 

The morning he finds out his new placement, he’s sixteen and can’t stop smiling. He videochats with his family and later cries to his mother for thirty minutes because _holy shit, this might actually be happening_. Come a few years down the road, when there’s a new man-led mission into the depths of Solar System, Lance swears he’ll be piloting that shuttle. He doesn’t know the costs of his choice—the consequences his dream—quite yet.

(He doesn’t know what he must lose to make it happen.)

 He’s seventeen when the Blue Lion choses him as her Paladin and eighteen when he’s forced to let her go. Staring at his lion, the one he’s spent the last year bonding with while his team jumps into battle outside the Castle, Lance can’t help but remember standing on that beach during the Europa X laugh: when he was yearning for space, desperate to do whatever it took to reach his dream, only to succumb to the crushing disappointment that he wasn’t good enough to make it on his own. 

Turns out he isn’t good enough to pilot Blue anymore too. 

There’s footsteps behind him, the quick _pitter-patter_ of Allura. “Lance, what’s wrong?” 

He runs a hand through his dark hair, incredulous eyes still not leaving Blue. “I don’t know,” he tells her. “Blue’s shutting me out. Maybe Pidge was right: I am just a goofball. Not only am I not meant to be the leader, I guess, now, I’m not meant to be a paladin.” 

From the depths of the Castle, there comes a sudden roar.

“What was that?”

Allura’s eyes narrow in understanding. “The Red Lion. You must go to it,” she urges and nudges him towards the mouth of Blue’s hangar. 

But Lance wants nothing to do with the Red Lion. In the pit of his stomach, something bitter bubbles up. “No way. Keith probably trained it to bite my head off.” He’s trembling, hands clenched into tight fists, because he thinks he knows what’s happening and, frankly, wants absolutely no part of it. “Maybe it’s roaring for you.”

“I would love nothing more than for that to be true, but I know the Red Lion is not meant for me.” Lance shakes his head as her next words wash over him. “It is choosing you.”

“I don’t understand.” _I’m Blue’s_ , he thinks desperately. _I’ve always been Blue’s._  

Sighing harshly, Allura’s shoulders drop, the weight of the situation fully settling over her. “My father built Voltron, but he knew Zarkon was a better leader in battle. So he became Voltron’s right hand.” With a heavy hand, she reaches out and grasps his own shoulder, passing on the truth and burden. “Lance, when you accepted Keith as the new leader of Voltron, it proved you value a strong team over your own need for glory. Just like my father.” 

The Red Lion roars again, echoing throughout the hangar. Over the comms units, the team’s cries for aid go on. Fists clenched at his side, Lance narrows his eyes at Allura and nods. “I won’t let him down.” 

“Go.”

He looks at Blue one last time and tries not to think about Earth. 

So long ago, he’d stood on that shore, trapped between sand and space, and wondered what he’d have to give up to achieve his dreams. When he and the others boarded Blue that fateful morning in the desert, and flew off into the depths of the universe, he remembers looking back on Earth with a heavy heart. And now, as he prepares to take on a new role as Voltron’s right hand, he longs to be in Blue’s cockpit. 

Why is it, Lance wonders, that he must give up something he loves in order to get what he wants? 

Why is he never good enough to have both? 

Must be the laws of nature, Lance reckons.

To have something you want, you need to lose something you love.

 

*

  

Luck is not written into the laws of physics.

Forces do not come together to make moments of serendipity happen. If anything, luck is the product of both desperation and chaos, which cause people to grab hold the strings of the universe. That single-minded determination can either calm the roughest tides or brew a stronger storm. Either way, it’s people who cause the vagaries of war, not luck and certainly not fate. 

Lance knows this—has learned it through trial and error in the years he’s been fighting the intergalactic war against the Galra. His luck is mixed at best. There’s always some cause and effect that pushes the tides of battle in Voltron’s favor, and it’s the same kind that sends them stumbling back a mile. They gain as much as they lose sometimes. Whether it’s liberating one planet or losing an entire system, time continues in huge leaps and lunges, complete with the highest ups and farthest downs. 

But that’s war. What else can it be?

It’s awful and wonderful, a whirlwind of calamity and calmness, but only one side can win in the end. That’s _exactly_ what pushes people to make their luck. When they’re down on it and huddled on the other side of the front line with blood-soaked hands and smoking weapons, and the world seems hopeless, it pushes them to fight harder, get stronger, hold on just a little bit longer. 

 _It’ll calm down soon_ , Lance is used to thinking, and it’s the only thing keeping him sane at this point. _You’ve just gotta wait. The Galra can’t keep firing forever. Soon they’ll be an opening, and you need to be prepared to make a break for it._  

A stray shot flashes overhead in a wave of heat and buzzing, crackling as it hit the rubble Lance is currently hiding behind. “Just a little bit longer,” he tells himself even though there’s no one in the near vicinity to hear it. Sometimes he just needs to remind himself before he makes a big mistake.

He’s out of his Paladin armor, which means he doesn’t have a shield to block or a helmet to protect. Instead, he just has his bayard to defend with, and even that leaves him with limited options. He can’t attack blindly from behind a collapsed wall, and there’s no prime position he can prep to shoot from considering the Galra are already attacking from high ground. There’s no way out. 

This mission—it was supposed to be _easy_. 

That’s what Coran claimed, and that’s what Shiro believed when he sent Lance and Allura on a two-man mission to the small planet of Kairmar. On paper, it’s a simple mission to recruit more planets to the Coalition, but between the lines, it’s an opportunity for the Paladins to learn the ins and outs of the new lions they’ve been placed in. Even though it’s only been four months since he joined Red and Allura started piloting Blue, there’s still so much more they have to do before they’re capable of any certain victory as Voltron. Right now, they’re barely scraping by, winning battles by the skin of their teeth. 

Allura and Lance need all the help they can get.

This mission is supposed to be a chance to bond with their lions. It’s about learning their new bayards. It’s about forging a strength to their blossoming partnership.

None of that is happening though. 

Like most things in Lance’s life, it’s gone to _shit_ since they got here. 

A purple barrier goes up around the hangar and palace and part of the surrounding forest after the feast the Kairmarians held in welcome concludes. In confusion, Allura and Lance exit the main hall, dressed in simple clothing for the diplomatic mission but bayards still poised at their sides. Their Paladin armor is back in their rooms, the lions in the hangar, and no available communication units in the vicinity. 

“They’re here! They’re here!” Some Kairmarians are gathered at the far end of the corridor, gesturing towards Allura and Lance. Explosions shake the palace, smoke curling along the walls and making Lance’s eyes burn. “Over here! _Over here_!” 

At first, he thinks they’re running from the Galra, who he can easily recognize as their battle cruisers reach the lower atmosphere, but then he notices that none of them are screaming or panicking. Only pointing the foot soldiers and drones marching through the front entrance in the Paladins’ direction. 

“Uhh, Allura?” Lance raises a finger towards the Galra and Kairmarians, eyes widening as the weight of the situation finally settles over him. “They’re not running.” 

Allura grits her teeth, hands clasping into tight fists at her side. “I see that, Lance.” She’s trembling beside him, anger emanating from her every pore.

“Maybe we should start running instead,” Lance suggests. His eyes won’t leave the approaching Galra. “Show them how it’s done and all.” 

“I really don’t think they’re interested in learning.” 

Even though the enemy is looming on them, shots close enough to feel heat and swords poised to strike, neither Allura or he make a move to escape. Both are still frozen outside the entrance of the main hall, unable to register the Kairmarians and Galra working together _against_ Voltron. The peace treaty discussed only an hour early disappears like smoke from a fire, dispersing into the air like an intangible dream.

The Kairmarians have never been interested in joining the Coalition. They’ve already joined the Galra Empire.

“We have to go,” Lance urges suddenly, his bayard switching into its blaster form. “Allura, come on, we have to get back to the lions.” 

But she can’t move. 

The betrayal has sunk its teeth deep into the Altean, buried the incisors into muscle and bone and sinew. Lance doesn’t think it will ever come out, eventually only leaving a faded scar once healed, but a mark enough to remind them to be more cautious with who they trust. The Kairmarians had been in discussions with the Coalition for nearly two months, elaborate plans and strategies prepared, trading routes set up, outposts to be shared. There had been a game plan—all they needed was for Kairmar to sign on the printed line. 

Their treaty was as good as finished. 

Until it _wasn’t_. 

“Allura, come on,” Lance tries again, grabbing hold of her wrist and tugging her in the direction of the hangar. “What’re you waiting for? We need to move. Galra coming. Shooting now. Running preferred!” 

“I’m not waiting around, Lance, I’m thinking.”

“Please think faster!” He ducks as a purple blast hits the ground by their feet, cracking the marble floor tile, the two of them ducking behind a pillar for protection. 

Amidst the shouting and blaster recoils, Allura leans close until her mouth is right next to his ear, hot breath puffing against his cheek. “Look,” she whispers and gestures towards the ceiling of the hallways. Chandeliers dangle high overhead, metal glinting under the purple light from the Galra’s stray shots. “We need to find a way to blow the ceiling. We get those chandeliers down, and we can delay the approaching—” 

She doesn’t even finish before Lance whips out his bayard and fires at the chain connecting the light fixture to the ceiling. The chandelier falls, separating them from the Galra and Kairmarians, and Lance lets out a _whoop!_ of joy. Before he has a chance to fully celebrate his _fucking awesome marksmanship_ , Allura’s reaching to grab the gun from his hands and firing off quick shots down the whole length of the hall. She doesn’t hit the target, but it causes enough damage to the ceiling to cause the rest of the chandeliers to fall in succession. For the first time that evening, screams and cries erupt from the opposing side as the Kairmarians and Galra alike flee from the falling debris.  

“H-Holy _shit_ ,” Lance whispers breathlessly. “That’s a hell of a s— _hey_!”

Allura is already tugging on his arm, pulling him towards the hangars. “ _Now_ we can move.” 

Gathering their feet under them, they take off down the hall at break-neck speed. 

Heart pounding in his throat, Lance tries to swallow it back, the fear and panic along with it, but nothing seems to keep it down. The Galra have ceased fire, trying to reconvene after the chandelier escapade, which honestly seems like something Lance would see in those old Hollywood action movies, but he stopped being suspended in disbelief a while ago. He’s in fucking space fighting aliens—it doesn’t get more Hollywood than that.

“Lance, _this way!_ ” Allura’s voice cracks as he stumbles to a halt, nearly missing the turn down a hall. “It says it on the sign!”

“What up, I’m Lance, I’m 19, and I never fucking learned how to read _alien languages!”_ He tries to regain his footing, using the nearby pillar to push off in the direction Allura had dashed off in. “That is _really_ something we should add to our training regime, you know!” 

“I thought the Castle translated things for you!” 

“No? Since when does the Castle translate anything?” 

“It translates things all the time,” Allura pants, fixing him with a bewildered look. “Do you think every planet speaks your weird Earth language?” 

“How the hell does it do that?” 

“The Castle is slightly telepathic—” she begins, and Lance gawks.

His eyes widen in horror. “You telling me the Castle can read my mind?”

“Over here! I think they went this way!” The voice comes from the other end of the corridor, and Allura and Lance freeze. 

“We have to go,” he hisses, and she can only nod. 

Turning on their heels, they head for a staircase on the far right. At this point, they have no idea where they’re running, only who they’re running from, and where they hope to end up. All they can do is keep their head down, eyes forward, and pray that no one finds them. 

It was supposed to be a simple mission. 

But, just like most things for Voltron, it isn’t.

*

 

[Art by the lovely aionean!](https://aionean.tumblr.com/post/176143343539/you-cant-cross-a-sea-by-standing-on-the-shore)

“There _has_ to be some way out of this,” Allura says heatedly.

For the past few minutes, it’s been silent. The explosions and screams from the initial invasion—can he even call it that if the Galra were _welcomed_?—have dispersed, leaving the hallways filled with an eerie quiet. Allura and Lance have been hiding in the corner of a corridor for a while, to a point that Lance can’t even remember how long they’ve been on the run. It’s been just the two of them and their bayards, up against an entire empire on an unfamiliar planet with species determined to see their demises. 

Seems simple enough, right? 

“We need our Lions,” he tells her, but that’s where the problem lies. Even if the Galra haven’t discovered them yet, they know that there’s Paladins on this planet, which means securing the Lions was the first step in this battle. Making their way to the hangar seemed like a plausible plan at the time, but Lance has an inkling of just what they’ll find there. 

Aliens with swords. Ships with ion cannons. Death and doom.

He’s not sure if they have what it takes to beat them. 

 _Allura_ , though—Allura’s eyes glint under the harsh lighting in the hallway, swirling with an angry fire as her grip on her bayard tightens. If he were to place a gun in her hand, she’d shoot with no questions asked. Lance’s instincts are screaming for him to fire away at whoever he needs to if they want to escape, however, for the first time in a long while, the hopelessness of the situation weighs heavily on him. Pulling a trigger seems like too much effort when the enemy can just fire back tenfold.

He can’t help it. They’re stranded on this planet with no armor, no comms, no Lions, and no team. He wants to _live_ , and rushing head-first into enemy territory while severely lacking… _everything_ doesn’t seem like the right way to go about this. 

Lance can’t afford to lose here. 

“We have to be careful,” he warns her suddenly.

Allura only hums in agreement, her gaze never leaving the ends of the hallway as her mind works to formulate a plan. Nearly glowing in the soft pale light of the Kairmarian castle, she has an almost ethereal feel to her, the same kind she had from the very first moment he saw her. It’s still weird sometimes, finding himself by her side as a partner and friend. He tries to think of long ago, before she became a Paladin and when she was simply a Princess, talking battle plans and diplomacy and seeming like an impossible goddess.

It’s seems so far away now.

In the months since they became the Red and Blue Paladins, Lance has realized just how important his friendship with Allura is. Their short time spent together—in battle and bonding—has resulted in a strong partnership. At the beginning, many months ago, when they were both in new Lions, it was a struggle to make gains as they had to navigate how to work in Red and Blue, handle new bayards, and fall into a new team dynamic. It’s paid off though, Lance likes to think. 

As Pidge and Hunk are the tech savy duo, and Shiro and Keith are the chiefs in charge, Lance and Allura fall in as the lionhearts. They work as Voltron’s support, in the wings when the time arrives. Together, they’ve fallen into a sort of cohesion that lets them survive and thrive. Working with Allura—he’s learned more than he ever has about himself and his abilities. Lance can’t imagine fighting this war without her or his team. 

As with all things in his life, he’s dove headfirst into their partnership, savoring every moment in a full and complete way. It’s funny because he always counts the sucesses in his life as the most important things, but he’s never taken the time to stop and stare at the roses, appreciate how they wither, only to bloom again. In a way, he can see their partnership as a rose. Sometimes it gives and wanes, sometimes more dead than alive, but in the end it always sparks back to life if they’re truly strong enough. He notices it with Allura especially. As she adjusts to life on the front lines as a Paladin, he’s watched her fail more times than succeed, but each time, she blossoms a little bit more until she’s in full bloom. 

Her growth as a Paladin has made her more _real_ to him in a way she wasn’t before.

 Lance knows how lucky he is to have her by his side. He doesn’t know what he’d do without her. 

“I think the general vicinity is clear.” Allura frowns to herself, turning back to face him. Even though she tries to sound confident, she can tell how grim the situation they’re facing is as well. “We can head towards the hangar now. We should find something to blow up. It would cause a wonderful and very much welcomed distraction.” 

“What?” Lance’s voice cracks incredulously (though a part of him is still stuck on her sudden need to blow things up. It’s the second time today she’s mentioned it). “You want us just to… walk over there?” 

“That’s the plan,” Allura says. At her side, her bayard transforms into the familiar hammer she favors, the blue glow illuminating the shadows of the corridor. “Come on, we don’t have much time to waste. You’re the one who said it: we’ve got to get to our Lions.” 

He thinks of the Kairmarians who turned them in and the Galra located at every entrance. Fear bubbles in the pit of his stomach and he places a hand on her shoulder. “At the risk of our lives?” he asks. 

Allura quirks an eyebrow high in confusion. “Lance, this is war. Every day we risk our lives for the fate of the universe. How is this any different? It’s just another mission.”

“It’s not and you _know_ it,” he presses, gesturing towards the empty hall around them. “We have no way of knowing what’s going on out there. We haven’t even done any sort of reconnaissance. We’re basically sitting ducks just waiting to get picked off right now.” 

 _The mission is supposed to be simple_ , Lance reminds himself. _We’re supposed to be able to handle it ourselves. How did this get so messed up?_

Allura huffs at his argument. “I don’t have time for this right now—” 

“For what? Planning our next step? Making sure we don’t die?” 

“For you to be a coward,” she tells him, voice tight. A shiver rushes down Lance’s spine at her words, uneasy crashing over him. Of all people, he never expected to hear that from _her_. “We have no idea if the Lions are still here because the Galra could have taken them the second they touched down. We don’t know if the team is still alive in orbit. We don’t even know if the Kairmarians are in league with the Galra or being forced. There’s so much we don’t know, I get that, but there’s something we do know, and right now, it’s that we need to get to our Lions and get off this planet.” 

“Allura,” Lance tries to interject, but she cuts him off with a shake of her head. 

“Why can’t you be more like Shiro?” she mutters. “I need you to stop worrying and _focus_ , Lance.” 

Lance’s heart sinks to his feet. 

“That’s not fair,” he protests, rocking back on his haunches. “Of course, I’m scared. I’m always fucking scared. We could die at _any_ time out here, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you walk out there with no plan and no idea where to go. Because let me tell you, that’s absolutely the _best way to die_. It’s like you’re not even trying!” 

“That is _not_ what I’m doing,” she says.

“Yes, it is! You’re gonna walk into the Galra’s hands and press the barrel of their gun right to your own head, and you’re gonna do it with a fucking smile because you aren’t _thinking—!”_

“Of course, I’m thinking!” Allura pushes herself to her feet, no longer sheltered by shadows. She towers above him, every bit as fierce and grand as Zarkon himself, and strikes a fear inside him in a way that the Galra King never could. Her eyes are raging, just like before. Only now, every bit of it is directed towards him. “All I’ve been doing is trying to come up with some way to get out of here, and get out of here _alive_ , I might add. But I haven’t heard you come up with anything better.” 

Breathing fast and hard, more from heavy emotions than anything, Lance springs to his feet and points his bayard towards her. “I’ve been trying, and you know it.” 

“I can’t do this right now,” she says, like she never even heard him. “I need someone who can strategize, who can lead an army _—_ ” 

“We are _not_ an army,” Lance snaps back heatedly. “We are two people against a fucking empire. Right now, all I know is that we can’t just walk into the hangar and take our Lions. It’s too dangerous, and I can’t _—”_  

“Since when have you been so afraid of dying?” 

“ _—lose you.”_ His voice breaks on the final word, and it echoes on and on, reverberating through the small space. 

There’s silence.

The laws of nature state that Lance must lose something he loves to get what he wants. For space, it was home. For Red, it was Blue. For victory, it was Shiro. For life, will it have to be his teammate? 

Allura stares at him like she’s never seen him before, fixing him with a studious gaze usually reserved for diplomats and hostiles. Used for strangers. _Is that what we’ve become?_ He dares not ask. _Because I don’t recognize you right now, and I don’t think you know me either._  

(They’re supposed to be partners.) 

“Lance,” she tries to say, clearly at a loss for words, but can’t even manage that before a distant explosion rattles the corridor.

“What was that?” Lance asks.

“I-I don’t know, but I…” She swallows thickly, trying to clamp down on her own fear. “But I didn’t like the sound of it.” 

“We need to find a window,” he says numbly. “I think someone may have gotten a jump start on ‘blow everything up’ plan.” A shiver creeps into his chest, digging into his heart like a sliver in his skin. Lance has always been one to trust his instincts, one of the prime aspects that make him an excellent sharpshooter, but for the first time, he _really_ wanted to be wrong about this. 

With quiet steps, they meander down the corridor, into a side hall, and find an empty room that looks to be used as bed chambers. Allura wastes no time crosses it and thrusting open the curtains where they have a full view of the courtyard of the palace, the hangar in the far west, and the surrounding forest in the south. 

Outside, it’s a mess of purple, smoke, and flames. 

 _The hangar_ , Lance realizes, and his heart sinks in his stomach, wounded beyond repair. _The hangar is on fire_.

 No hangar means their Lions are exposed. No hangar means the Galra can pick Red and Blue freely like leaves from a tree or dandelions in the grass. Harbor them in their ships above orbit and concentrate on collecting Allura and him. 

If they’re caught, Lance knows it’s going to be a world of pain and chaos until one of them breaks and turns their Lion over to the Galra. But he knows Allura would never. He can’t say the same about himself. 

He doesn’t know what he can withstand. 

(Losing his friends _,_ he knows, is the one thing he _can’t_.) 

“What do we do?” he asks Allura because now they _really_ don’t have a plan. Everything’s been blown sky-high to smithereens. (Literally.) 

“W-We…” Allura is still staring at the burning hangar. “I…” 

He cocks his head to the side, fixing her with a quiet gaze. “Allura?” he implores. 

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “I-I don’t know, Lance.”

In the glow from the distant fire, Allura is scared. He can see it written on her face—plain as day—and knows it’s echoed on his own. Dark shadows painted on the tips of their cheeks, eyes shining with hopelessness, lips pressed into thin lines. Before this, they had been content living in ignorance and exchanging feeble battle plans. But now, standing in the aftermath of the Galra’s latest attack, both are at a loss at what they’re supposed to do.

All Lance knows for certain is that the only thing he can do is focus on keeping himself and Allura alive until they can be rescued. 

 _I need you to focus_ , Allura had told him. 

 _You’re asking the wrong person_ , he wants to say, but staring at her fearful expression… Lance can’t bring himself to tell her. 

Suddenly, a shrill whistle slices through their frantic fervor. Turning to the door with startled eyes, Lance can make out a young Kairmarian wearing the garb of a palace servant, all long-limbed and purple skin. 

She raises a shaky hand in their direction and calls out over her shoulder. “P-Pal… PALA _DINS_!” Her voice is shaky and cracking. It’s obvious she’s terrified of them, and Lance wonders just what the Galra told the Kairmarians about them to seal their betrayal.

He raises his gun. Fires off a quick shot. The servant screams. 

Allura ducks her head as the glass from the window shatters from the brunt of Lance’s attack, pieces falling to the ground like the _pitter-patter_ of raindrops. It’s a short drop below, maybe a few feet more than he’s comfortable with, but right now it’s their only option. 

“Allura,” he calls out, but the Altean is already acting. 

Popping over the window sill, she flashes him a steady gaze and nods once. “Follow me.” Without another word, she slips over the side of the building and into the dark night below. 

Relief washes over him, mixing in with the desperate panic that’s bubbling up again, but he trusts Allura with his life and will follow her experience and strategy over himself any day. On shaky legs, he follows her out the window, dropping down to the ground, and takes the impact in his knees. The straight sends him catapulting, head over heels across the courtyard. 

A strong hand grips his wrist, pulling him back to his fight. “Come on, come on.” Allura’s eyes are wide in the dim torchlight of the courtyard. “The Galra are going to come in a tic, and we can’t be waiting around—”

 A tic, a second, a minute—they don’t even have that long. 

The drones are poised along the edges of the courtyard in a loose circle and closing in, hard and fast. Guns held hands, they’re pulling the trigger until shots light up the night, purple and rapid fire. One manages to hit the wall right next to him, and he barely has time to duck and dodge, feet already pounding and arms pumping, barely keeping at Allura’s heels as they dash across the courtyard. 

“Allura,” Lance rasps, voice hoarse. “Where are we going?” 

She doesn’t respond, just simply running in an aimless direction. Lance has no other choice. He has to follow her. 

A stray shot streaks in an arc above them like a shooting star, sizzling and crackling with purple energy. It lands shortly before them, pulsing in time with Lance’s frantic heart, and there’s a breath of silence before the world erupts in heat and light around them. A star going supernova, an explosion in a deep bunker, an atom pulling apart—it tears through them like they’re simply dust on the breeze. 

Lance’s feet leave the ground as he goes flying across the courtyard, bouncing on the ground, until he’s sprawled halfheartedly over a pile of rubble. He thinks he can hear Allura’s distant shout in the distance, but it’s lost to the constant ringing in his ears.

Head blazing, he pushes himself up and gathers his feet underneath. _Gotta keep moving, gotta keep moving_ , he thinks but still tries to look for Allura. The only thing he can see in the courtyard is fire, Galra, and his impending death hanging over his head like a guillotine. 

“A-Allura!” he screams, but there’s no reply.

He manages a few shaky steps before he collapses beside some rubble from what seems to be an outer wall of the palace, destroyed in the initial wave of attack. Luckily, his bayard is still in his grasp, whole and hopefully working. He tightens his grip on it. _It’ll calm down soon_ , Lance tries to tell himself. _You’ve just gotta wait. The Galra can’t keep firing forever. Soon they’ll be an opening, and you need to be prepared to make a break for it._  

A stray shot flashes overhead in a wave of heat and buzzing, crackling as it hit the rubble above him. “Just a little bit longer,” he tells himself even though there’s no one in the near vicinity to hear it. Sometimes he just needs to remind himself before he makes a big mistake. 

“Allura! Allura! _Where are you?_ ” Lance cries over the chaos. 

Again, there’s no answer. 

For the first time, stranded on this hostile planet, Lance feels utterly alone.

There’s only so much he can do right now. He can’t attack blindly from behind a collapsed wall, and there’s no prime position he can prep to shoot from considering the Galra are already attacking from high ground. There’s no way out. 

All that lays before him is a wide expanse of space, that leads beyond the palace and into the small town beside it. From there, it’s only a short dash to the surrounding forest. 

Allura still isn’t replying. 

Hands tightening on his bayard, Lance makes a desperate choice—full of fear and guilt—but frankly, the only plan he can possibly connive right now. If he leaves Allura to get to safety and tries to find a communication system to get a signal to the team, then there’s a chance they can still survive this. The fact that the Galra need them alive to get to the Lions is the only saving grace here. 

 _Allura,_ he thinks to himself. _I’m sorry I’m not strong enough._  

There’s no time to fire off a second glance or another shot. He needs to leave _now_. 

So with a heavy heart, Lance pushes off of the wall and bolts towards the forest and into the depths of unknown territory. 

Inside, he’s screaming. All he wants is Allura.

(But he doesn’t have her. And he wonders if he ever will again.)

 

 

*

 He’s been running for what feels like hours when he sees it. 

It’s a Galra cruiser. The ship has crashed, one wing missing and the other broken in numerous parts. It won’t do well to fly, but for protection, Lance knows it’ll be enough. 

The rain, having built up some time ago, is slick against his skin as he runs across the field, sliding to a stop above the entrance of the Galran cruiser where the thunder rattles the glass in the frame. Muffling a soft curse, Lance pulls on the handle as he tries to pry the door. It refuses to budge. He needs to get out of this rain and out of sight because the Galra are right behind him, baring down hard… 

…And soon he’ll have a problem. 

Deciding to face the consequences later, Lance puts out his gun and shoots the handle—lock and all—before slowly pulling the hatch open and jumping down, slamming it close behind him. He lands in a low squat, resting back on his haunches, as rainwater drips onto the cool metal of the cruiser’s interior. Lightning paints the walls with streaks of light and shadow, not even a trace of purple light to guide the way. 

He’s trapped on a hostile planet, alone and cold and scared.

 _God,_ he’s never felt so pathetic. 

It’s funny, if you think about it. Lance has always prided himself on being adaptable. In a way, he’s like water, trickling past whatever life throws at him, floating absently along from shore to shore. He would bend and sway for any rock in his path, any wood wedged in front of him, and any mud that might clog the cracks. As he always tells Hunk, there’s nothing Lance McClain can’t handle. 

But then came Kairmarian and the betrayal, the surprise ambush by the Galra and Allura’s fear—it all goes to remind him just how useless he is. It has a way of turning Lance’s fluidity to stone cold ice. 

Allura is right, he decides. He’s not the strategic commander that Shiro is. He isn’t the impulse-driven warrior that Keith’s obsessed with. He’s not the diplomat that Hunk serves as. He isn’t a technological genius like Pidge. His talents lay simply with a gun and his charisma, which is absolutely _no help_ right now. He can’t charm his way into the remains of the hangar and straight into his Lion. 

Of all people for Allura to be stranded with, it has to be _him_. 

(God, what a joke.) 

If he had the same focus as Shiro or sane innate battle sense as Allura, he might have actually made a difference, but the only thing he’s done so far is lose Allura (and he will _not_ mention the other option, because there’s no way in all of space and time, that his friend is _dead_ ). Without her by his side, Lance wonders what hope he has to survive this. Losing her has hit him deeply, like a fatal blow he can’t recover from. Like stardust, Allura has simply blown away with the explosion, and he has neither a speck or spot to hold onto. All that’s left it the hollow imprint she’d left behind. 

 _I don’t need a coward_ , she’d told him.

 _It seems to be the only thing I’m good for_ , he tells himself.

 And it’s the truth, isn’t it? 

…But even if he is a coward—afraid of dying, of losing her—how can he let go so easily? The fact of the matter is that Lance _can’t_. He can’t find it in himself to give up. Even though the options are the best and brightest, at least there is something stirring beneath him. 

To survive this, he knows he needs Allura. 

He needs his partner back. 

Ever since flying through a wormhole all those years ago and having his whole life turn into a whirlwind of chaos and adventure, Lance isn’t sure of much these days. Everything has turned slippery in the blink of an eye, and sometimes he struggles to find a handhold so he won’t fall out of orbit and go flying away. In this moment, Allura is his gravity. She knows how to survive, she knows how to defeat the Galra, she knows how to win. 

He needs to find her. 

He needs to get her _back_.

Outside, thunder booms, and the inside of the cruiser is eerily silent. Lance tries to find comfort in it, that he’s granted the time to think, the time to plan. But all he has is the fear bubbling inside him, gnawing at the ends of his frayed nerves, and sending his panic spiraling sky high. 

How can he ever hope to do this without her?

 

*

 

The plan comes to him in flashes—bits and pieces of dreams he can’t quite remember, things he’s grasped from listening to Shiro during strategy sessions, and some frankly horrendous parts of those Hollywood action films that ended in complete failure but had some good basis to them. It’s stupid and bound to get him killed, but hopefully he gets Allura out of it, right? There’s some silver lining. 

The plan is simple: cause a distraction. 

And by distraction, _of course_ , Lance means a bigger explosion than the one that separated them. It has a sense of poetic justice to it that he favors. Allura would be pleased, he thinks. 

After some digging around in the rubble and cruiser graveyard, he manages to find an intact hovercraft that reminds him eerily of the vehicle the cop at the Space Mall utilized. Except this one seems to have a rocket attached to the back, which will _definitely_ do the trick. Before he takes off towards the palace, full of people who want to kill him, Lance gathers what fuel he can from the damaged cruiser and pack it onto the back of the craft. Once he gathers enough speed and slams into an immovable object, he can most certainly crack the injection pockets—which means rocket fuel for all the happy flames to munch on.

 (…He just needs to make sure he is far, _far_ away when that happens. Because that’s the thing… that could very well possibly _probably_ kill him.) 

It takes a couple hours, and dawn is blossoming on the horizon when he finally makes it back to the edge of the forest. The Galra still haven’t left their battlements. With a soft sigh, he slings his bayard in its rifle form over his back and climbs onto the back of the hover craft.

Closing his eyes, Lance inhales slowly and his chest tightens, trying to cage his frantic heart. His grip on the joystick of the craft is steady as he flies it in a straight line, heading for the front line of the Galra drones, hoping his barrage will be enough to destroy the stragglers to give him a clear path for an escape. It’s a risk though, and Lance knows this. It’ll be a miracle if he survives this. 

In the shadow of death, he almost feels his father’s warm arms around his waist, easing him into a turn as they slip along the waves on the jet ski back home. “It’s easy, like breathing,” his dad says. “Just tilt your weight and drive forward.”

He had tried to respond and caught a mouthful of ocean water on the wind, choking on laughter and glee as he rides gravity and buoyancy like a bird on the breeze. In space on a distant planet though, with his father’s ghostly heartbeat against his back, Lance’s own thundering against his ribs like a wild animal, the rest of the world fades in and out with the pulse of time. Poising the tip to line up straight, he thrusts himself forward on the controls.

 

 _…_ _Gotta_ _get_ _this_ _right._ _Gotta_ _get_ _this_ _right._ _Gotta_ _get_ _THIS_ _RIGHT._

 

The jet ski leaps as they catch the lip of a wave. The hover craft jolts into a wall of purple and metal. 

Lance jumps. 

Suddenly, there’s nothing. 

He’s nothing. 

There’s no moment of impact—no sun going supernova, no comet streaking into a planet’s surface. There’s the faint sound of wings, like feathers rustling together, and a stray breeze that catches the lip of his jacket and whips it around. Light and sound are a distant dream, dissipating like smoke to a fire, a sense of emptiness that’s vast and choking. 

If this is what death is, Lance is terrified to open his eyes. 

But eventually, he does as the world comes back in a whisper. 

Everything is dark and _cold_. 

Eyes heavy, pain drums against his skull in tune with his pulse, the steady _thump-thump_ drowning out everything else. Fear bubbles up because he doesn’t know what happened, he doesn’t know where he was, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. 

“Lance?”

The voice comes through as sound filters back, the darkness giving way to a blur of soft purple and stars staining the sky. Lance’s heart leaps into his throat. He’s always hated the stillness and silence of stasis, but suddenly there’s no sound and only night, and he still has no idea of what’s going on. 

“Lance?” the voice asks again, pulling him from his reverie. 

He can’t help but let a dry whine of fear fall from his cracked lips. It comes out as a grating croak in the back of his throat, lungs stuttering to push the air and sound out when all he wants to do is just breathe.

“Oh thank the gods, you’re _alive_.” 

Lips twist into a grimace, Lance props himself up on trembling elbows in hopes of getting view of where he is and the person who’s with him, but nausea strikes the moment he moves. With a shaky groan, he sinks back down to the ground, which is hard and cold beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Hands scrape along the ground to find sort of anchor in the slippery world of pain and color that he’s been thrown into, but the warm fingers of another person stop his exploring all together. 

“Lance?” the person asks once more. “Are you with me?” 

Staring up ahead, Lance can only make out the heaving body above him, and his mouth drops open in awe. Sweat-tangled hair falls into the path of bright eyes, cheeks dusted a light pink, and heavy gasps fall from pale lips. Allura’s certainly a sight to behold—one very much wanted. 

“Where the _hell_ have you been?” he rasps out. 

“Me?” Her eyes turn incredulous. “You’re the one who disappeared. I told you to follow me!” 

Lance stares at her in utter disbelief. “E-Excuse me?” he asks, flabbergasted. “Hold on, what were you doing? I was right behind you until they started shooting at us, and then everything exploded, and when I tried to get to you, you were gone!” 

“I was blowing things up!” 

Lance blinks hard. “What?” 

“It’s a surprisingly effect strategy when your enemy is trying to do the same damn thing!” Crossing her arms against her chest, she huffs and falls back against the wall of the cruiser that Lance had taken shelter in before. “I grabbed a gun, and the next thing I know, you’re gone.” 

“Does it really matter?” Lance mutters, drawing on his strength to lift himself off the ground. A throbbing pain rockets down his back, but he pushes it back to sit up, collapsing against a wall when he reaches the apex of his ascent. “We’re here now, together and all that jazz. We need to find a way to contact the team.” 

Allura nods, not finding the words for the right response. When a glint of something dark and wet catches his eyes, Lance cocks his head to the side and stares at her long and hard, the world becoming more aware as the seconds tick on, gaze settling on Allura’s soot-streaked palms and stained fingers. He traces the cracks in the floor, covered in dark puddles, to Allura’s shoulder which is sticky with blood. 

Lance’s eyes widen in alarm. _She’s hurt_. 

Scooting forward, leaving him weak and panting, he collapses against the wall next to her and reaches out with shaky hands, tracing the edges of her wound, warm fingertips tickling the skin. She closes her eyes with a soft sigh, lids fluttering at the sensation, so different to the pain that’s been trickling through her for the last several hours. 

“How’d it happen?” he asks, voice low. Anything louder might break the fragile stillness between them. “Do you remember?” 

“I don’t know.” Allura ducks her head, hiding herself from his heavy gaze. “I was just running… There were so many Galra, and I was just running, and maybe someone hit me, but I honestly couldn’t think about anything but finding _you_.” 

“I…” He starts to say, confusion lacing his voice. “I didn’t mean to run away.”

 “I know you didn’t,” she gasps. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I didn’t mean it, Lance,” she says softly, staring up at him. “When I called you a coward, I never really meant that. I’ve always thought that you’re one of the bravest men I’ve ever met. I can’t do this without you.”

 His heart inflates. Hearing those words from Allura stirs something deep within him, an indescribable feeling that comes from the knowledge that he means _that much_ to someone else, especially someone who means _that much_ to him 

He sighs and shakes his head. “I can’t do this without you either. You know what to do, how to fight, how to survive. I… I don’t.” Closing his eyes, he drops his head against his chest and tries to breathe. “I can’t lose you. I need you.” 

Allura stares at him with wide, wet eyes for a short moment, the span of a single heartbeat, then leans forward and throws her arms around his neck and holds on tight, as if she never plans to let go. It’s funny, Lance thinks to himself, because if you had told him years ago that he would be holding Allura in his arms as his partner and one of his closest friends, he would never have believed you. 

She has always been an enigma to him, a puzzle whose pieces are constantly shifting and changing. With each piece slotted into position, another part of her is shining in a new light, and it makes him that much more in awe of her. There’s so much more to her than just being an Altean Princess—she’s vulnerable and strong, courageous but not afraid to be scared, intelligent and incorrigible sometimes, but that just makes her an even better person. 

In this moment, bloody and bruised, Allura has never seemed more real to him. 

He’s proud to call her his friend. 

“So…” he trails off, keeping his voice quiet. “What do we do now?” 

Allura shrugs helplessly, settling against him for warmth. Outside, the day is cool, the planet’s sun giving little heat to the surrounding area. “I don’t know,” she tells him, a furrow eclipsing between her brows. “I can barely think right now.” 

“We probably need to contact the team,” he suggests. 

She nods thoughtfully, placing her palm over his fist and curls her fingers over his. “There might be some communication systems on one of the intact Galra cruisers. We can start there.” 

“Later,” he says. 

She doesn’t say a word in response, just buries herself deeper into the crook of his neck. He’s quiet as well as the moments pass them by, enjoying the silence between the space of their heartbeats.

 Her fingers clasp his wrist. “Whatever happens, Lance…” 

“Don’t say anything.” _Because I refuse to lose you_. “All that matters is surviving, okay?”

“I need you,” she whispers. 

“I can’t lose you,” he returns. 

And somehow, right in that moment, that’s all they need to hear. 

They can do this—survive—together. 

They’re partners after all.

 

 

*

 

The sky erupts in a fiery swirl of purples and reds with the morning sun, light ebbing away the cool blue of the night. Inside, something _burns_. It pulls Lance from his heavy slumber with a gasp, hands flying to cradle his head. There’s movement to his side, a brush of fingers against his temple, but all he can see is a dancing flame in front of him. 

“W-What’s going _on?_ ” he groans as pain filters through his senses. It’s like his whole world is a kaleidoscope of fire and color, and he doesn’t know how to smite it away. 

“Lance, what’s wrong?” 

“I d-don’t know, b-but it _burns_!” 

The words seem to quell Allura’s fear as she sits back again, resting a soft hand on his shoulder. “Oh.” She manages a small smile. “It’s just Red.” 

“It fucking hurts.” The pain is beginning to recede now, leaving a haunting echo of pops and sparks, like coal catching flame in a roaring fire. Now, though, he can hear the distant roar of the Lion, and wherever she is, she’s fucking _pissed as hell_. 

The two of them sit in silence for a few minutes as Lance gets used to the bond with Red being strong and nearly tangible, so much more overwhelming than anything he ever had with Blue. It’s still so weird, having a new Lion, he thinks. The bond, for instance: it’s something he craved with Blue because it made him strong, reminded him of home and everything he loved, reminded him of why he fought so hard to protect the universe. 

Their bond was fluid and cool, like the ocean water along the shore back home, the soothing waves lapping against his bare feet with the ebbing tide. His mother swears he was swimming before he could walk or even talk, so it’s no surprise that water was something instinctual for him. It’s what made him thrive so much with Blue. Everything with Blue was easy. 

The Red Lion is a completely different story. 

No matter how much he slows, pauses, breathes—the bond is always a frantic beat beneath his skin, a pulse that never tires, a livewire always sparking. With helplessness raging through him in light of recent events, it’s like Red’s bond has turned into an inferno. Instead of simply burning with her as a guiding light, it’s like he tied to the core of a neutron star, caged in a body of bone and ash, and all he can do is scream. 

(If this is how Keith always felt, it’s no wonder he was too willing to trade Red in for Black.) 

Minutes crawl by as the world finally rights and Lance comes back to himself. At his side, Allura is quiet save for her thoughts and breath, ever the constant guard and support of Voltron. For a moment, he lets himself wonder what the rest of the team is doing right now. Surely they’ve noticed their absence now and the presence of so many Galra ships? He wouldn’t be surprised if Keith’s having trouble staying put, trying to infiltrate the hostile planet to rescue Allura and him, armed with a butter knife, Hunk’s left shoe, and a slew of anger issues. 

“Your bond with Red is getting stronger,” Allura suddenly muses as Lance gets lost in his silent reverie. “It’s amazing, really. I don’t even think Keith got it that fast.” 

“It’s nothing I’m doing, believe me,” he says. Hands still shaking, he clasps them together in his lap. “It’s more like Red’s forcing it on me.” 

Allura’s laugh startles him. “Don’t you know that’s how the Lions work? Trust me, Red wouldn’t force something on you that you were ready to handle or accept.” She cocks her head to the side as a small smile slips across her face, soft like a gentle morning breeze rustling petals and leaves. “You should be proud of yourself. You’re very strong, Lance.” 

Lance merely hums, leaning back against the wall of the cruiser. He tries to ignore the way his heart lurches at her words because it’s weird to hear about him in relation to Red. The Red Lion has always been the one thing that belongs to Keith, something that Lance equates to strength and endurance and talent, so to suddenly throw himself in that mix shakes him to the core. Lance isn’t used to the idea of being powerful. He never has. And he knows, he _knows_ that each Lion is unique to the individual, and he knows that what he has with Red isn’t what Keith had, but how he used to think still rings through him sometimes and he can’t help but think that he’s finally won. 

But what leaves him confused is that he knows there’s nothing to be won anymore.

They’re a team, through and through. To have these vindicated thoughts now… seems wrong. 

“I miss Blue,” he tells her instead. Eyes fix on his clasped hands which shake minutely between his legs. He refuses to look at Allura. “Sometimes I hate you for that.” 

Allura shifts uneasily beside him. “Yeah?” 

“I was the first one to bond with my Lion, you know.” With a bitter smile, Lance shrugs like he can’t help the way his feelings have boiled over, the way the smoke curls in the air, and leaves the burning taste on the tip of his tongue. “Out of everyone that day when we were trapped in that cave back on Earth, Blue picked me. I didn’t have you to tell me which Lion to go to or anything like that. I did that by myself. I’ve always been pretty happy about that.” 

“I didn’t mean to take that away from you,” Allura says in a soft voice. “You know that, right?” 

“Of course.” With a heavy sigh, Lance turns to face her and stoically ignores the way his heart bubbles at the sight of her downcast gaze. He doesn’t mean to make her feel bad or bitter about anything. “I know you wanted Red, and I’m sorry I took that from you.” 

“It was my father’s,” is all she can manage, and those words are more than enough. 

“And Blue was mine,” he says in response. “But I think she was always meant for you.” 

Allura’s head picks up and she stares at him with a stunned expression. “Oh?”

“I think… Blue was easy and gave me the foundation to build what I need to take on the challenge of piloting Red.” Lance flashes her a quick smile. “Gave me the strength I needed to be the right hand of Voltron, you know?” 

“You’re very good at it.” The statement would have once made Lance curl up in satisfaction and elation, bragging about it for days on end. But right now, he sits next to Allura, one of his closest friends, broken and bruised, and he can’t help but smile. Between them, there’s no need to throw success around to impress others and grow bigger; they’re equals now, partners through and through. 

It’s been a long time coming. 

“You’re good in Blue,” he tells her. “You’re doing so much better than I ever could with her. You were made to be her pilot. That’s why you’re the heart of Voltron.” 

Allura stares at him for a long moment, eyes hazy with an emotion he quite place, but then she presses her lips into a thin line and pushes herself up on her haunches. “We best be going. Dawn’s here, and we have a lot to do. If your bond with Red is really that tangible, we might be able to summon the Lions here from the Galra ship.” 

Lance smiles to himself, even if she doesn’t answer him. He already knows the sentiment is returned. 

So with a heavy sigh, he stands up and slings his rifle over his shoulder, taking care to catalog the pain in his back and legs, injuries that long ago would have debilitated him but have only made him stronger in the grand scheme of things. He looks at Allura by his side, blood-stained bandages wrapped around her arm and soot-stained fingers clasping the handle of her hammer. 

“Ready to go?” she asks him, and Lance can only smile. 

“After you, m’lady?” he says and sweeps his arm out to the entrance of the cruiser. 

Together, smiles etched into pale faces and weapons in hand, they head out to the Kairmarian castle and the league of Galra that await them, ready to save the universe.

 

*

The laws of nature may dictate that Lance needs to lose what he loves to get what he wants, but space has a funny tendency to screw things up.


End file.
